The surprise of pain, like that unwelcome visitor That laughter, that cold on your skin-- a touch that lingers then burns. Running then hiding. You raise your face--- the pain enters you and grinds and something is ignited. The monotony of pain, a dull droning voice. You turn every which way and it won't slide out. I'm here, I'm here. ... You say there is no way out. There are small holes in each direction, Only this room, and this house, and this field. Gray light from rotted wood, something burrowing in your mouth, sharp and black. I squeeze your hand. Slow pollen on your breath, Gold lights on your neck. The sky is open in one hole, of naked white, the rest is miles and miles of clouds. ... You think that there is nothing else but this droning, this drowning in heat. Wordless wind and grass and trees. You are opening yourself and laughing. Bright cherries swelling out. I taste each one, Your arms, your breasts, your tears until you are silent. The air is noiseless, a paused video. Even the flies don't move. You see me through all your gray, small lights somewhere high. A heat rises suddenly.